Oh My Word

Last night I was working on my In Search of... post that was supposed to be on the blog today, but in my search for something that I had seen in Matchbook this month, I noticed Bailey McCarthy's home was on the Matchbook blog.  I first found out about Bailey after she was in HGTV magazine.  I have since seen about a million versions of these photos, so either girlfriend changes around her house more than I do or she's moved.  Either way, her aesthetic is divine.

All images via 

Some people...

When I finally get a chance to read my monthly stack of shelter magazines, I zip through any garden features.  I love the outdoors and I love beautiful gardens, but I am so enamored with what goes on inside the home that I can't be bothered with yards.  But this month, when I received my March-April Veranda, my mind was reeling after seeing Miles Redd's magic in Atlanta.  The only thing that snapped me out of my Redd daze was the mention of Lake Geneva in the subtext of "A Cultured Jewel" about Caroline Scheufele's Swiss home.  During my time in Europe, I visited some family friends in Switzerland and spent some time on the docks of Lake Geneva (Lake Leman as it is called there).  Well, as you'll see, it is just plain ugly there and I can't imagine living in this reprehensible dump that she calls a villa.  Pff.

How to: Hang in a Grid

This weekend I did some rearranging and picture taking for an upcoming full reveal of Lilly's room over at hellobee.  The artwork on her walls hadn't been moved since she was in her crib and with her fab new bed and furniture arrangement, it was in need of some refreshing.
While we were in DC over the holidays, I went to the C. Wonder store at Tyson's Corner.  The line was out the door, but I found these faux bamboo rimmed plates and they were on sale.  I hastily grabbed all that they had, not really knowing what I wanted to do with them, but thinking they would be wonderful displayed on a wall.  I pulled them out this weekend and they ended up being the perfect polished addition to Lilly's big girl room.
I hung them in a grid over her bed and used my God-goven over thought and over complicated common sense, so you'll excuse me if there is a much easier way out there.  Here's the final product...

First, I laid the plates out on the ground to determine how I wanted to arrange them.  I decided on the three by three grid and had a couple plates to spare.

I then traced the plate outline on paper and cut out nine circles.  I attached the plate hangers to the plates and then laid one pink cut out over the plate hanger and marked roughly where the nail would go.  I used this one mark and marked all of the nine circles by overlaying them one at a time.  I made the marks dark enough so I could see them through the overlaid paper.  For this step, it is important to make sure you are using the same size plate hangers so you can make sure the nail hole is in roughly the same spot.

Using double sided tape I attached the cut out paper to the wall to determine where exactly I wanted them to hang.  I eyeballed this step and didn't worry about being too exact.

Once I found a good spot for the middle plate, I used it as a guide.  The nail hole I marked on the center paper was used for the spacing of the rest of the plates.  

Using a level and the nail hole on the center plate, I drew a faint level line (on the cutouts) connecting the nail holes on the middle row of plates.

I then did the same thing with the level and drew a line for the middle column.  The + made on the center plate became my more exact guideline.  I then determined the exact spacing I wanted by moving the plates around until I found a distance I liked.  Once I did, I measured the distance between the marking on the center plate and the one just left of center.  I marked this number on my ruler and used this same number to mark the rest of the nail holes, using center as a guide.  It doesn't matter what this number is, as long as you use it through out.  You will probably end up making new nail hole marks on all of the plates.  The most important part is that the nails are evenly spaced.  As long as the nails are the same distance apart from top to bottom and left to right, you will have a lovely grid.  

Furbish Pillow Giveaway

There are only a few blogs that I read every day and one of them is Jamie Meares' blog I SUWANNEE.  So this afternoon, I put the kids down for a nap and finally sat down with my breakfast to check out my daily reads. After checking my email, I headed over to I SUWANNEE and I am here to report that FURBISH is giving away some beautiful pillows that I first saw on an Instagram post about a week ago and loved the pink and black combo - it reminded me of my new blog design, set to reveal very soon.  My mom also follows FURBISH, Jamie Meares', etc. on Instagram and she was even more gaga for the pillows then I was.  So if I win, I'm giving them to my mama.
Now hop over to I SUWANNEE and peek around and then enter to win some beautiful pillows!

Side of Table, Part 2

Okay, here's the roundup.  Just as a disclaimer, I only included side tables of the side table variety and not of the over scale grand table size variety.  I really love that look, but I don't currently have the space for it, so if you do, pooh pooh on you.  Number 20 on the list is actually a dining table from Dwell Studio, so it's not really an option, but I loved the proportions and think if I could scale it down, it would probably be my most favorite side table evah.

From left to right:

1 // 2 // 3 // 4 // 5 // 6 // 7 // 8 // 9 // 10 

11 // 12 // 13 // 14 // 15 // 16 // 17 // 18 // 19 // 20 

21 // 22 // 23 // 24 // 25 // 26 // 27 // 28 // 29 // 30

As always have a beautiful weekend.

Side of Table, Please. Part I

I'm on the hunt for a side table and you know I don't mess around.  I'm thorough.  I need to make sure I am familiar with all of my options before I make a decision.  So, I have recruited a team of the best side tables this side of the internet for your viewing pleasure.  But before we get to that, we need to talk about a few things.

Side tables are something I always have a difficult time with.  I think they are one of those small details that can make an entire room but are too often an afterthought.  As with anything else, it's not so much the table itself, but the context you put it in.    I have a thing about side table height, namely I always lean toward a side table that is the same height or slightly lower than the sofa or chair arm.  For instance:

Source unknown

Anna Spiro

Lonny

House Beautiful

I am by no means saying this is the best way. I know it can be fabulous to break this rule and play with scale.  Exhibit A...

Lonny

Lonny

Lonny

Lonny

Clearly, it can be done beautifully in a multitude of ways.  However, I do think that playing with the height can be reconciled partially by the lamps (or lack thereof), especially when you have two non matching end tables.  If you choose a tall end table (relative to your chair or sofa) perhaps a shorter lamp is in order.  On the other hand, if a short table is what you want, match it with a taller lamp.  I dare say that when you choose a taller side table, it seems more like a tall side table that happens to be next to a sofa as a opposed to a side table intentionally placed next to a sofa or chair to hold drinks and the like.  A tall dresser or table next to a shorter sofa or chair is a chance for another vignette or moment in the room, great for housing a scupture, beautiful books or anchoring an eye catching piece of art.

Now let's talk about depth.  This is a little more clear cut because it can be easily determined by space and function.  Do you have room for a generous end table?  Do you have need for a generous end table? (ie. lots of books, pictures, artifacts, etc.) And if you have the space, who cares about the stuff because a larger than necessary end table can make everything in a room feel more grand!  I present, Exhibit B...

House Beautiful

Lonny

Lonny

A dining room worthy table used next to a sofa (or bed) is such a fabulous touch when done correctly and confidently.  It kind of becomes it's own entity and area of the room, instead of playing a supporting role.  There is something almost regal about adding a huge end table to a space and the scale change up creates some seriously good tension in the room.

On the other end of that spectrum, I do love a petite table, large enough to hold only a drink and a book, paired with a floor lamp.  Ladies and gentlemen, Exhibit C...

Lonny

Lonny

Lonny

Lonny

It's a lot to think about.  I know.  Tomorrow I will present my finalists on the end table front.  But, in the meantime, I want to know... What's your favorite way to side table?

Ma Chambre

I should really say "Our Chambre" because it's not just mine, although sweet Lilly is all confused about whose room is whose because of our whacky sleeping arrangements a la Liam's non-sleep schedule.  It's like musical beds around these parts.  Anyhow, I took some photos of our bedroom when I was taking pictures for the Elizabeth St. article and I just realized that I haven't really shared our home since we kind of "finished" it.  It is on the market now so I had to call it quits and stop decorating even though it's really never done.  I'm sure you can imagine it's been VERY difficult for me to not try and change/improve things.  I'm sitting on my hands and it's driving me crazy!!  So anyway, here's our bedroom.  Done as it will ever be.  (Side note:  I have been looking for a green cashmere throw for the bed to break up the sea of white I got goin' on, but I just haven't found the nuanced shade of green that I'm seeking.  I'm also in the market for new nightstands.  I just think it's too matchy matchy and these are unofficially sold to a lucky gal who found my Craigslist post.  Worlds Away has some that I'm quite interested in but they won't fit in this house so now I wait.)

More on the bedside tables here and the DIY curtain rods here.

Like what you see?  Email me about our design services.

Kid-friendly By Design

Did you check me out on Elizabeth St. the other day?  Well, why not!  Go!  Now!  

A very big thank you to the ladies at Elizabeth Street Mom for the lovely feature.  

Hello? Are you still there?

It feels like a dog's age since last I posted and I wanted to stop in, say hello, maybe salvage some readership and perhaps 'splain myself a little.  As usual, I'll save the TMI and personal stuff for another day, but I wanted to tell you that the new Avarice is underway and man is she purdy.  Chelsea over at GoForth Creative along with Dennise of Tenacious Dee (awesome name, right?) have been working on my new site and, I tell you what, these are two talented lady birds.  Here's a little peeksy:

Pretty super, right?  It's all I can show for now, but the final site should be up and running soon.  In the meantime, I have to admit, I am a little reticent to continue posting here because we are moving to Wordpress and will have a new address http://www.TheAvarice.com.  So that's my update.  Hope you're doing fabulous.  Feel free to check in with me and just say Hello.  Always love hearing from you.

Bragging Busy

I tried to write some sort of intro for my post today, but I am exhausted and probably won't be back to my fully articulate self for another few months- once the prince starts sleeping through the night. Until then, I'll let writer Tim Kreider say some what I've been thinking for weeks...

If you live in America in the 21st century you’ve probably had to listen to a lot of people tell you how busy they are. It’s become the default response when you ask anyone how they’re doing: “Busy!” “So busy.” “Crazy busy.” It is, pretty obviously, a boast disguised as a complaint. And the stock response is a kind of congratulation: “That’s a good problem to have,” or “Better than the opposite.”

It’s not as if any of us wants to live like this; it’s something we collectively force one another to do.

Notice it isn’t generally people pulling back-to-back shifts in the I.C.U. or commuting by bus to three minimum-wage jobs  who tell you how busy they are; what those people are is not busy but tired. Exhausted. Dead on their feet. It’s almost always people whose lamented busyness is purely self-imposed: work and obligations they’ve taken on voluntarily, classes and activities they’ve “encouraged” their kids to participate in. They’re busy because of their own ambition or drive or anxiety, because they’re addicted to busyness and dread what they might have to face in its absence.

Almost everyone I know is busy. They feel anxious and guilty when they aren’t either working or doing something to promote their work. They schedule in time with friends the way students with 4.0 G.P.A.’s  make sure to sign up for community service because it looks good on their college applications. I recently wrote a friend to ask if he wanted to do something this week, and he answered that he didn’t have a lot of time but if something was going on to let him know and maybe he could ditch work for a few hours. I wanted to clarify that my question had not been a preliminary heads-up to some future invitation; thiswas the invitation. But his busyness was like some vast churning noise through which he was shouting out at me, and I gave up trying to shout back over it.

                              Brecht Vandenbroucke

Even children are busy now, scheduled down to the half-hour with classes and extracurricular activities. They come home at the end of the day as tired as grown-ups. I was a member of the latchkey generation and had three hours of totally unstructured, largely unsupervised time every afternoon, time I used to do everything from surfing the World Book Encyclopedia to making animated films to getting together with friends in the woods to chuck dirt clods directly into one another’s eyes, all of which provided me with important skills and insights that remain valuable to this day. Those free hours became the model for how I wanted to live the rest of my life.

The present hysteria is not a necessary or inevitable condition of life; it’s something we’ve chosen, if only by our acquiescence to it. Not long ago I  Skyped with a friend who was driven out of the city by high rent and now has an artist’s residency in a small town in the south of France. She described herself as happy and relaxed for the first time in years. She still gets her work done, but it doesn’t consume her entire day and brain. She says it feels like college — she has a big circle of friends who all go out to the cafe together every night. She has a boyfriend again. (She once ruefully summarized dating in New York: “Everyone’s too busy and everyone thinks they can do better.”) What she had mistakenly assumed was her personality — driven, cranky, anxious and sad — turned out to be a deformative effect of her environment. It’s not as if any of us wants to live like this, any more than any one person wants to be part of a traffic jam or stadium trampling or the hierarchy of cruelty in high school — it’s something we collectively force one another to do.

Our frantic days are really just a hedge against emptiness.

Busyness serves as a kind of existential reassurance, a hedge against emptiness; obviously your life cannot possibly be silly or trivial or meaningless if you are so busy, completely booked, in demand every hour of the day. I once knew a woman who interned at a magazine where she wasn’t allowed to take lunch hours out, lest she be urgently needed for some reason. This was an entertainment magazine whose raison d’être was obviated when “menu” buttons appeared on remotes, so it’s hard to see this pretense of indispensability as anything other than a form of institutional self-delusion. More and more people in this country no longer make or do anything tangible; if your job wasn’t performed by a cat or a boa constrictor in a Richard Scarry book I’m not sure I believe it’s necessary. I can’t help but wonder whether all this histrionic exhaustion isn’t a way of covering up the fact that most of what we do doesn’t matter.

I am not busy. I am the laziest ambitious person I know. Like most writers, I feel like a reprobate who does not deserve to live on any day that I do not write, but I also feel that four or five hours is enough to earn my stay on the planet for one more day. On the best ordinary days of my life, I write in the morning, go for a long bike ride and run errands in the afternoon, and in the evening I see friends, read or watch a movie. This, it seems to me, is a sane and pleasant pace for a day. And if you call me up and ask whether I won’t maybe blow off work and check out the new American Wing at the Met or ogle girls in Central Park or just drink chilled pink minty cocktails all day long, I will say, what time?

But just in the last few months, I’ve insidiously started, because of professional obligations, to become busy. For the first time I was able to tell people, with a straight face, that I was “too busy” to do this or that thing they wanted me to do. I could see why people enjoy this complaint; it makes you feel important, sought-after and put-upon. Except that I hate actually being busy. Every morning my in-box was full of e-mails asking me to do things I did not want to do or presenting me with problems that I now had to solve. It got more and more intolerable until finally I fled town to the Undisclosed Location from which I’m writing this.

Here I am largely unmolested by obligations. There is no TV. To check e-mail I have to drive to the library. I go a week at a time without seeing anyone I know. I’ve remembered about buttercups, stink bugs and the stars. I read. And I’m finally getting some real writing done for the first time in months. It’s hard to find anything to say about life without immersing yourself in the world, but it’s also just about impossible to figure out what it might be, or how best to say it, without getting the hell out of it again.

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More From Anxiety

Read previous contributions to this series.

Idleness is not just a vacation, an indulgence or a vice; it is as indispensable to the brain as vitamin D is to the body, and deprived of it we suffer a mental affliction as disfiguring as rickets. The space and quiet that idleness provides is a necessary condition for standing back from life and seeing it whole, for making unexpected connections and waiting for the wild summer lightning strikes of inspiration — it is, paradoxically, necessary to getting any work done. “Idle dreaming is often of the essence of what we do,” wrote Thomas Pynchon in his essay on sloth. Archimedes’ “Eureka” in the bath, Newton’s apple, Jekyll & Hyde and the benzene ring: history is full of stories of inspirations that come in idle moments and dreams. It almost makes you wonder whether loafers, goldbricks and no-accounts aren’t responsible for more of the world’s great ideas, inventions and masterpieces than the hardworking.

“The goal of the future is full unemployment, so we can play. That’s why we have to destroy the present politico-economic system.” This may sound like the pronouncement of some bong-smoking anarchist, but it was actually Arthur C. Clarke, who found time between scuba diving and pinball games to write “Childhood’s End” and think up communications satellites. My old colleague Ted Rall recently wrote a column proposing that we divorce income from work and give each citizen a guaranteed paycheck, which sounds like the kind of lunatic notion that’ll be considered a basic human right in about a century, like abolition, universal suffrage and eight-hour workdays. The Puritans turned work into a virtue, evidently forgetting that God invented it as a punishment.

Perhaps the world would soon slide to ruin if everyone behaved as I do. But I would suggest that an ideal human life lies somewhere between my own defiant indolence and the rest of the world’s endless frenetic hustle. My role is just to be a bad influence, the kid standing outside the classroom window making faces at you at your desk, urging you to just this once make some excuse and get out of there, come outside and play. My own resolute idleness has mostly been a luxury rather than a virtue, but I did make a conscious decision, a long time ago, to choose time over money, since I’ve always understood that the best investment of my limited time on earth was to spend it with people I love. I suppose it’s possible I’ll lie on my deathbed regretting that I didn’t work harder and say everything I had to say, but I think what I’ll really wish is that I could have one more beer with Chris, another long talk with Megan, one last good hard laugh with Boyd. Life is too short to be busy.

http://opinionator.blogs.nytimes.com/2012/06/30/the-busy-trap/